Kiss and make up
by Linderel
Summary: Harry and Draco have a lovers' spat. The following day, the Malfoy finds himself reflecting on how his life has changed since Hogwarts, and Harry surprises him.


**Title: **Kiss and make up

**Genre: **angst, romance

**Rating: **PG-13, just in case

**Pairing(s): **Harry/Draco, implied Ron/Hermione and Sirius/Remus

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. Rowling's. I'm in vehement denial about a whole lot of canonical things.

**Notes: **Angstfluffmoosh ahoy. This was supposed to be a very short vignette, but soon started living a life of its own. Not that I really mind, but still. It's always somehow disconcerting to have your muse snatch an idea and run off somewhere with it. Cackling. Dedicated to Triola, who got me into writing this thing in the first place and was there to keysmash at when I got stuck on verb inflections. Beware the horror that is run-on sentences.

**Summary: **Harry and Draco have a lovers' spat. The following day, the Malfoy finds himself reflecting on how his life has changed since Hogwarts, and Harry surprises him.

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Through the retreating haze of sleep, he distinguished someone walking around in the apartment. Cupboards clacked, glasses clinked, soft footsteps made shuffling sounds against the carpet, a kettle whistled. The old radio in the corner of the kitchen counter was turned on, the rhythmic beat of some rock song trickling through the bedroom door, always slightly ajar because... because...

He forcibly tugged at the comforter, burrowing deeper inside the warm cocoon of darkness and trying to catch onto the edge of his quickly evaporating dream about teasing smiles and softly whispered words with more than just a little desperation. Whoever was bumbling around would certainly realise to leave him alone. Right?

No such luck. The door creaked open, old hinges wailing in protest, and a few seconds later the curtains were none too gently drawn back to let light spill in from the east-facing window. Accursed sun. Accursed whoever it was that wouldn't lep him sleep in. Preferably the whole damned day.

As if on cue, the blankets were stolen from his grasp and the morning sun assaulted him full on. Squinting an eye open with great reluctance and evident distaste, he witnessed the figure of one Hermione Granger being enveloped by the light, giving her an ethereal glow. He snorted quietly. While Granger was decidedly pretty, she was no angel. As was more than proved by her current activities which seemed to be geared towards getting his own gorgeous arse out of bed.

"Rise and shine, Draco! Time to get up," she chirped, a nearly imperceptible sadistic edge to her tone. He groaned and made to roll over, only to be deprived of all the pillows by her thieving hand. Squeezing his eyes shut and counting to ten before finally getting on his feet allowed him to offer her a smile that was only a bit strained. She knew perfectly well that he was not a morning person even at his best, and if she had come over for the reason he thought she had...

He eyed her warily, then sighed and took the bathrobe being held out to him. Might as well play along. There was no way she would let him off the hook. Dragging his feet and feeling extremely childish for it, Draco followed her wordlessly to the kitchen, where Ron was finishing up preparing something that might pass for breakfast.

He froze. Crap. If Ron was here, he certainly knew about last night as well. The Malfoy felt a headache creeping up to his temples, and he resisted the urge to pinch his nose. He was glad he did, a second later, when he was treated to the Weasley version of the death glare. He fought off the old reflex to sneer, and waited for the bomb to explode.

In the time he had come to known Ron Weasley as something more than a childhood enemy, he'd discovered that once gained, no matter how grudgingly, Ron's friendship and loyalty were nigh unwavering. Heck, he'd go as far as to defend Draco against Harry at times. Even if the redhead himself was endearingly simple, missing the irony, its amusement value was not lost on the Malfoy. A Weasley, protecting him? Against Potter of all people? He'd laughed about it to himself more than once.

This, however, would not be one of those times. He, pardon his French, was so fucked.

When Ron spoke, the poison in his voice was palpable. Fuckedfuckedfuckedfucked.

"So, Malfoy. I hear you upset Harry pretty badly yesterday." His eyes narrowed, and Draco had the faint impulse to raise his hands to shield from the daggers being shot at him. "Want to tell us why?" A platter banged loudly, being set on the table. He twitched. "Want to tell us what possessed you to mock the one thing he's most insecure about and go far enough to drive him to seek refuge at his godfather's house?"

So that's where Harry had gone. At this information, some of the tension lining his shoulders leaked away and he could breathe just a bit more easily. Black would know how to handle the situation. Even though he predicted he did have one more person royally pissed off at him. No, make that two. Couldn't forget the werewolf professor.

Oh so very fucked.

The blond sighed. He did owe everyone an explanation, didn't he? More importantly, he owed Harry an apology, no matter how hard it was to admit that he had been in the wrong. Sometimes it was simply too easy to forget how vulnerable the other man could be. Had always been.

"That's... none of your business," he muttered sullenly, looking anywhere but at the two people standing in his kitchen. Heard Ron growl. "Look, I don't know, alright?" The admission stilled all of their movements.

"Sometimes I go back. You know what I was like in Hogwarts - hell, my life was almost dedicated to making you lot miserable. And sometimes I..." He raised his head, tears stinging angrily at his eyes. They better appreciate how much this was taking from him. "Look, it was a stupid argument, it was a really fucking stupid thing to say, and I know I hurt him. But it's like that when I... when I get insecure."

The last word was nearly spat out. For a moment, a startled silence reigned in the apartment. Then he was enveloped in a warm hug from two directions, and let himself go.

"For chrissakes, Malfoy," the blond muttered, repeating Ron's earlier words to himself. "Just get it over with. Kiss and make up. It's not that bloody hard."

He had, after Ron and Hermione's departure, spent a good part of his day sitting at the dinner table, reflecting - or, as Harry would have said, he thought wryly, brooding - on the past, present and how he was going to make amends for screwing up so badly, and drunk entirely too much tea while at it. Grimacing at the dark liquid in his mug, Draco got up and scampered off to the bedroom, intent on making himself at least somewhat presentable.

He had an apology to conduct, complete with candles and takeout Chinese and eyes that were not too bloodshot and red-rimmed from crying because while he was truly sorry, he still had an image to maintain. To properly prepare for the evening, he did have to step out of the apartment, and it simply would not do for the world to see his ruffled state. The man felt a twinge of guilt at the reprimand of his inner voice, saying that it would matter to Harry to see that this whole thing affected him deeply as well. He just hoped the other could understand. Wincing at where that particular trail of though would lead, he dumped the pile of clothes he'd taken from the closet unceremoniously on the rumpled sheets of the bed and headed to the bathroom for a long, hot shower.

Two hours later, he was just about ready to fall apart all over again. It was well over six o'clock, the only high-quality Chinese restaurant in this part of town was closed for renovations, none of the grocery stores had the kind of candles he wanted, and the sky had opened with a mighty crack of thunder. Things were not going in Draco's favour, and he indulged in a slightly bitter questioning of his decision to forsake the magical world. Everything was so much harder the Muggle way. Then he reminded himself, firmly, that it had been for Harry's sake.

After the war, the man had wanted nothing more than to be ordinary. Just Harry Potter, not the Boy Who Lived. That, and they'd both had enough of the whole wizarding folk frown upon their relationship, with the exception of their closest friends - or, as it happened, Harry's closest friends who somehow had become such to Draco as well. They still had their wands, and occasionally used magical methods for transport, but truth was, even the Malfoy had grown to prefer the infernal tube or the crowded streets to flooing or apparating. On most days.

For a moment, he contemplated giving up on the meal and transmutating the candles, but quickly discarded the thought. This needed to involve actual effort.

Thus scrapping his initial idea, the blond darted inside the large department store a few blocks away from their apartment and proceeded to search for what he needed for a hurriedly devised backup plan. Thank Merlin Harry had taught him how to cook. Hunting down the ingredients for a fine dinner was the easy part. Once everything had been gathered and paid for, he took a deep breath and walked back to their apartment. He only had a while before Harry would be home; the other two members of the trio had informed him that Sirius would kick him out of his house by eight o'clock so that he and Lupin could have some privacy.

Upon walking in, he had to do a double-take. An exact replica of his original plan stared him in the face, and when a confused blink did nothing to dispel it, he let the grocery bags drop limply on the floor. Seconds later, he'd made a beeline for the distincly dejected looking man sitting on the living room couch.

The next few minutes were spent in a flurry of apologies, intense hugs and the slightest hint of panic. Heaven forbid Harry would think that he had just went on like normal, unaffected and unrepentant. He was just about to launch into a tirade of explanations and a new round of saying how very sorry he was and it had been stupid to mock his lover for something so obviously discomfiting when he was silenced with a determined kiss.

"Sssh. Draco, love. It's alright," the dark-haired man murmured, placing a finger on the other's lips. "You don't have to say anything. I know you didn't mean it."

Taking him gently by the hand, Harry lead him to the bedroom, a tiny smile playing on his lips. Wondering not for the first time in the years they'd been together how the hell he deserved this amazing creature and deciding, yet again, that he really didn't, he followed obediently and assaulted his lover with a passionate kiss as they stopped at the foot of the bed. They undressed each other slowly, anticipatory tingles running up and down their spines. If it was like this to kiss and make up after every major row, Draco thought dazedly, they should fight more often. Realising the absurdity of that notion, he let out a chagrined laugh and proceeded to thoroughly ravish his boyfriend.

Pigs would sooner fly than Draco Malfoy do something that required he apologise to Harry Potter ever again.

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**End notes: **This kind of fell apart when I couldn't finish it in one or two sittings. For that, I apologise. I hope you enjoyed the read either way.

Oh, and for the curious: Harry has been way too afraid of the dark for anyone's comfort since the war. Draco sometimes has issues with this.


End file.
